


Rolling Thunder

by WritingInSepia



Category: Avengers, Loki - Fandom, Marvel
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Loki - Freeform, Thor - Freeform, servant - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 22:55:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1086641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritingInSepia/pseuds/WritingInSepia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A multi-chapter fanfiction series involving Loki and a female servant (reader) While imprisoned in Asgard, Loki becomes intrigued with his mysterious yet simple new servant that attends to him while serving his time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s perspective. As Loki struggles with inner conflict, he lashes out, leaving his cell in a state of disaster and hurting himself in the process. Calling a guard to summon a servant for him, he receives a peculiar, intriguing young female servant who tends to his injuries.

Rolling Thunder, Chapter One

Loki's POV

Sighing, I set the final book down, letting it hit the nightstand with a gentle carelessness. I rested my head back against the wall, closing my eyes, sighing heavily. The last of the books Frigga gave me, for now, anyways. Shifting in my worn bed, rustling my prison garb, I roll over, facing the wall with a blank stare. Is this what I've been doomed to do? Lay in prison, reading books? I am a god...a god, and I'm subjugated to be laying here, wasting away, in prison. Granted, it was finely furnished, but to the bare minimum to my tastes. Mother had done all that she could to make prison comfortable, but I am still a god, damn it. She had done all that she could for me, but yet, not enough. I rolled back over, looking at the pile of useless book on the nightstand, feeling the bitterness and rage begin to build. How dare they. How. Dare. They. How dare mother, even, with all of the love in her heart, she was still too flawed to be blinded by the righteousness of my brother and my so-called father, and yet the best she could do for me was make sure I was comfortable in prison. I wasn't treated like a brother. I wasn't treated like a son. I wasn't treated like a god. I was being treated like a goddamn criminal for my “crimes,” like I was a villain.

The rage building, I sat up, throwing the books over, sending them scattering. Pages ripped, there was a chaotic flutter as the weathered texts flew through the air like broken birds. I screamed at them, I screamed at the prison, I screamed at Frigga. I ran my fingers through my hair, clenching it, pulling on it, yelling around the cell. I dug my fingers into my scalp, and I could feel the tangled knots in my unkempt hair. Breathing heavily, chest heaving, I take my fingers from my hair, seeing the blood under my nails from how hard they bit my scalp. I stand in the center of the room, surveying the destruction around me. Ancient texts, destroyed. The history of Asgardians and Frost Giants and the Realms, laying as tattered tomes at my feet. This is all I am good for. Destruction. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I turn slowly, curious, and stride over to it, pages crunching beneath my bare feet like fragile bones. Approaching the mirror, I feel shock, and even...disappointment. This is what I had become. Drinking in my appearance, I felt more and more ashamed. Basic prison clothing, crumpled and ripped from abuse, my raven hair tangled and knotted. Though my rage for my family had consumed me, deep down, I knew it was my own doing. Even though gods don't belong in prison, I still am a god. I neglected my own godliness, I never treated myself like one behind this glass.

Sick of the sight of myself, I drove my fist through the glass with a deep bellow of rage, all-consuming hatred. I could hear my father's and my brother's voice echoing through my head, it was your own actions that brought you here. Ripping my arm back through the mirror, I shredded my arm on the jagged glass, blood dripping onto the ruined pages on the floor. I wanted to destroy myself, I wanted to destroy the image I saw in the mirror. I hated myself, my father, my brother, Midgard...so full of self-loathing was I, I never took notice of the pain in my cut arm. 

As if a ghost, unconscious and numb, I make my way back to my bed, kicking at the shards of glass and bloodied pages. With the mirror ruined and the books shredded, my room was a disaster. As I stare at the ceiling, self loathing consumes me. As I become more and more conscious of myself as my rage died down, I became increasingly aware of the pain in my arm. Was it worth it, to destroy the mirror?A snide voice said inside my head, You're still here, that proved nothing. I sigh, frustrated. The one thing that could bring down a god is their conscious. Despite being able to heal at a faster rate than feeble mortals, the stinging in my arm became more prominent. The dark settling in, I began to feel nervous...I didn't want to bleed out, and I already regretted my foolish action, yet I did not want to subjugate myself to the humiliation of asking for help. I felt the blood starting to soak my bed, and I felt disgusted...I couldn't sleep in this. Your actions...echoed through my head once more, reminding me that it was constantly at fault. Caving, I finally called for a guard.

“Guard?” I ordered into the darkness, commanding. Prisoner or not, I am still a god. I hear the heavy footsteps of an armored guard approaching the cell glass, though I could not see them.

“Yeah?” They grunted back, carelessly.

“Call a servant for me, I require assistance,” I barked back. I had no patience. The guard snorts back.

“Loki, it's lights out. You know the rules.”

Quietly, I slip off of my bed, prowling through the darkness. Despite the lights being out, I could see the reflections on the guard's gaudy armor from the hallway lights. I sneak up behind him from the other side of the glass, his back to me. Suddenly, I slam against the glass, yelling at the guard, smearing my blood. He jumped, his weapon clattering to the floor. Falling backwards, he scrambles away, startled at the sight of the blood running down the glass. I take a breath, and grin wickedly. I saw the guard suppress a gasp of surprise as he sees madness flash in my eyes.

“Now,” I begin, very quietly, unnerving, “Do you still wish to defy me?”

Without another word, he picked himself up and hurried himself down the hallway, forgetting his weapon on the ground. With a satisfied smirk, I saunter back to my bed and lay down, waiting, still smiling. That is how a god asks for assistance...I take what I want. I lay awake awhile, until I hear footsteps coming back down the stairs to the dungeon, and the lights flickered on in my cell once more. Without a sound, a servant girl ghosts into my cell, entering cautiously. Unable to hold back, I sit up in bed for her, curious. She stops, as I sit up, and we watch each other apprehensively. She intrigued me...I couldn't place her birth origin, no matter how long I puzzled over her. Short, of average height, simple, medium length brown hair...nothing special appearance wise. Her complexion fair, maybe a bit on the pale side, though she looked frightened. Despite her being only in a simple servant's gown, her curves were framed rather nicely...I began looking at her, beginning from the bottom up, surveying the woman they deemed to be fit enough to serve me...and stopped at her neck. Around it she wore a stout leather collar, heavy in weight and with a single, thick metal ring on the front. I put my hand to my own neck and felt a jolt in my stomach – it was a painful reminder of how misguided the world is about my glorious brother and father. Still taking prisoners of wars or indebted peoples for servitude.

After a few moments of silence that felt like an eternity stretched out, she finally addressed me with a shallow curtsy. 

“How may I serve you, My Lord?” She asks humbly yet firmly, not muttering or fumbling. She looked down at her feet, but never took her eyes off of me, watching me. I noticed the slightest of tremors running through her body, the folds of her robes quivering. She didn't trust me. Wise girl. With an exasperated sigh, pretending as though she did not intrigue me, I lay back down on the bed, looking bored.

“I have wounds that need attending to. I need my linens changed. I need fresh clothes. And do you not see this mess? My cell needs cleaning.” I rattle off the list of chores in a brisk, harsh manner. She closed her eyes and recoiled her head back slightly, not so much like a flinch, but rather, her steadying herself.

“Very well,” she replies calmly. Agitated, I stuck my hurt arm out over the bed, impatient for her. The pain from my mistake was starting to really bother me, and I needed to have it tended to. Softly, she approaches me, her footsteps making little sound, the swish of the hems on her robe louder. I was momentarily surprised at the grace with which she moved – she was short and not lithely built, in fact, perhaps a bit heavier set even, with emphasis on her bust and her hips – I shake myself, feeling even more foolish. Stop analyzing the servant, my conscious snapped at me. What is she to you? Nothing makes her special. Look at her. Average. Short. A few extra pounds. Brown hair. Literally nothing sets her apart from the hundreds of other wenches that crawl within the castle walls. I felt satisfied with the resolve of my internal dialogue. She was nothing special. I watch servants come and go, a dime a dozen, all as plain in looks as she. Perhaps I was intrigued by her collar, or maybe, the way she approached me, in silence, daring to look at me because she feared me. Most looked away because they feared me – she looked her fear in the eye, untrusting, knowing she would quake. 

She knelt at the side of my bed, tenderly taking my wounded arm. Her finger tips were soft and surprisingly cold, and they felt soothing against my burning flesh. The sensation made the hair on the back of my neck raise, and I struggled to suppress a moan as the relief from her touch was almost painful. Gently, she kisses a wound, a level of servitude that took me aback...or was it servitude? Was she worshiping me as a god with her kiss, or was she taking pity on me with it? She conjured up a washbasin with some warm water and a cloth, and again, I was surprised she knew some simple magic. Who was she?

“This may sting a little bit, My Lord,” she said, apologetically. “I am so very sorry if it hurts you at all. Its never my intent to hurt you.” She dips the cloth in the warm water, pulling out out slowly and ringing it out. She lays it on my arm, and I sharply sucked air in through my teeth and clenched my fist. It hurt. It felt like there was salt in that water, and I wondered if there was. I felt anger bubbling up inside me, but kept a lid on it, determined not to snap at her. Your actions...echoed through my head once more...was it not me who called for a servant to attend to my wounds in the first place?

“Damnit.” I growl through gritted teeth as she massaged my cuts, cleaning out the dirt, tiny pieces of glass, and wiping away the dried blood. I saw a small frown play upon her face, and her forehead crease a little. She put the cloth back into the water, rinsing it out, and pink blood flowers blossomed and swirled within the washbasin. Making it disappear, she conjured up a fluffy white towel next. Carefully, she patted my flesh dry, a sensation that I found oddly comforting. 

“There,” she said, with almost a motherly smile on her face, “At least it's clean now.” She frowned once more. “Now...this...this may hurt a bit, but please, remember it's to help you heal.” I glanced over her face to see the motherly look was gone, replaced with worry, guilt, and fear. I felt a twinge of pity for the small creature. I certainly put her in a difficult position, making her heal me but also fear displeasing me. She uncorked a glass bottle of salve, and a pungent, repulsive smell hit my nose instantly.

“What in Odin's name?” I spit furiously. She cringed away from me, but did not look away, determined to meet my eyes.

“Please, My Lord, let me apply this salve to you before I bandage you up. You will feel a lot better and heal much faster.” This time, her voice quavered a bit, her fear for my wrath genuine. 

“Fine.” I snarl. She did not trust me, why should I trust her? How was I to know this wasn't simply a ploy from my brother or father to make me suffer more, or even kill me? She sighs with relief, bowing her head at me.

“Thank you, My Lord.” She applies a generous amount of the salve to her hands, rubbing them together. Setting them gently onto my skin, she works her hands over my tattered arm, massaging it. The salve was oddly numbing. She worked her fingers into my cuts, rubbing the salve in them, and it took the pain away. I let out a sigh of relief, my body relaxing. When she finished, she wiped her hands clean, and took out fresh bandages. Tenderly, with the same fond smile on her face, she wrapped them snugly around, careful not to make them too tight. When she finished, she stood up and stepped back, as though admiring her handiwork. I flexed my fingers, pleased with the results. 

She bowed her head respectively. “May I change your bedding, My Lord?” I was so entranced by our encounter, I had not realized that my bed was soaked with blood, and I was laying in it, cold. I stand up, and when I do, I notice her recoil a bit at my towering figure. Timidly but determinedly, she approaches my beside once more, quietly gathering up the soiled bedding and quickly replacing it with fresh linens. Stepping back once more, she looked back at me, eager to please.

“What may I do next for you, My Lord?” I draw in a slow breath, tipping my head back to look down upon her out of the corners of my eyes, flaring my nostrils. Though I did not feel hostile towards her, she needed to be looked down upon. I did not care for all the times where she overstepped her boundaries as a servant, challenging me with her determined looks, kissing my arm, smiling at me as though she were my mother...she needed to be put into her place. To my pleasure, I achieved my desired effect. She shuffled back, looked down, and away.

“My shirt,” I snapped at her finally responding. She looks up at me, confused.

“Your...shirt?” I noted quietly that this was the first time she did not address me, nor did she make any attempt to mask her puzzlement or sound as though she was not questioning me. Her simplicity...I liked it. Part of it enraged me, having her question me like that, but the other part of me liked being questioned, as though she was unafraid to speak her mind, or perhaps, she was so innocent that she simply didn't know she was questioning me, and was genuinely asking me in earnest.

“My shirt. It's covered in blood. Change me into a new one.” I hold my arms out expectantly. She scrambles to her feet in surprise, hurrying to conjure up a clean new shirt for me. Silently, she takes the hem of my shirt and starts to lift it above and off of me. Normally, such an act had no effect on me. I had countless servants dress and undress me hundreds of times. But she seemed so soft in her delicate movements, so pure...and I felt her breath faintly against my stomach and couldn't help but to feel aroused. Taking a servant would be very carnal, and yet, I yearned for the touch of a woman as honestly and as gently as hers. Without speaking, she cast aside the dirty shirt and slipped a new one over my head, taking care not to mess up my hair. The entire time, she dared not touch my skin, only the cloth, and executed the act flawlessly. I did not order her to touch me, I ordered her to change my shirt, and she did just that. She knew it was not her place to touch me. And yet...was that blushing? I blinked and the pink tint to her cheeks disappeared. I must have imagined it.

I straightened out my shirt, and spoke curtly. “It is getting late. You have done very well. I ask that you return to me tomorrow morning to clean my room and bring my food.” I turned my back to her.

“Yes My Lord, thank you.” She said, quieter than her previous spoken words. Without a sound, she left.

For now, it seemed, I could trust this one.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Servant’s perspective. She begins her second day serving Loki. He presents her with a multitude of emotionally conflicting challenges, switching between inmate and kind and menacing and cruel in his struggle to understand her.

Servant's POV (Reader)

The sunlight filtered through the servant's quarters, and the warmth began to stir us awake. I rolled over, snuggling into the covers, grinning to myself. So cozy, so happy...I begin to fall back asleep when suddenly, I was jolted awake by the thought of my new Master. Shit, I thought, flinging the covers back, jumping out of bed. I got nervous, quickly undressing and putting on my servant's robes. I momentarily paused, realizing that in my hurry, I forgot to put undergarments on, but then quickly disregarded the notion. Nothing would happen, anyways. I needed to bring Loki his food, and clean his room. Hurrying down the hall to the kitchen, I blush to myself, thinking of him. I had been so surprised when the guard came up the stairs from the dungeon and ordered a servant, any servant. He looked so scared and desperate. The overseer of our quarters awoke, roughly dragged me out of bed, saying it was time for me to prove my worth. Throwing me at the guard, my fate had been decided.

I enter the kitchen quietly amidst the early morning chaos, finding the covered silver tray ready to go on a counter top near the entrance for me. Quietly, I take the tray and slip out, unnoticed. The kitchen is in a constant flurry, from early in the morning to late at night, trying hard to keep up with the appetites of gods and those who served them. The cooks didn't notice me, and I was thankful for that. Like in the servants' quarters, I was often pushed around by anyone even remotely “higher up” than me, since I was very low on the totem pole. As I left the kitchen, one of the cooks entering gave me a dirty look, and I curled my lip back. They may have status, but I have the one thing they will never have: Loki.

The closer I got to the dungeon, the more nervous I felt. My heart began to pound, and I shivered with anticipation. I had mixed feelings of when I met him yesterday. For the first time in my life, I was at the feet of a god – a god in a cage. He reminded me of a panther, dark, brooding, cunning. The way he prowled his room, eyes bright, searching for weakness to strike out at and pounce on at any moment. The thought sent shivers down my spine, and I paused a moment to cringe silently. Such raw, surging power trapped within him, confined to a prison cell, like a big cat in a zoo.

And like a zookeeper, as I approached the large cat's enclosure, I felt nervous. Hesitantly, I came down the prison steps, approaching the glowing, golden glass that walled his own cage. I observed in fear for a moment. He was laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. The feeling of wariness was offsetting. There he lay: a god. Full of power, yet tamed. Or so we all think. I imagined how a zookeeper must feel like every encounter is a gamble, and my faith in him is not there yet. I could go into the cell, feed a placated animal, and walk away unscathed, and yet, at the same time, it was just that. I would be exposing myself to his raw, animalistic power. One wrong move, and he would pounce on it and seize it. And I would be trapped within the same confines as he. I was deterred at how bored he looked...was it a ploy, or was he merely that unstimulated in his environment? Again, I felt fear. An animal of such power, when trapped in a cage, becomes pent-up, and with no suitable outlet, is primed for aggression. I had my doubts. As alluring as he was, he was dangerous. I didn't trust him, not yet.

Taking in a deep breath, I timidly ask the guard to let me in. He snorts, shakes his head, and rolls his eyes at me, but he does let me in. As soon as I hear the door seal shut behind me, I freeze. Immediately, I wanted out. The temperature of the room plummeted. Unlike yesterday, where I was roughly awoken and thrown into a situation from which I had left almost as quickly as I had arrived, now I was stuck. I was meant to be his servant until...until what? I swallowed hard, not wanting to know what made others leave. Steadying myself, I walk up to his bedside, silently, calmly. I held myself upright, holding my head high, meeting his eyes. I did not want to show him I was afraid or could be easily cowed. I feared him greatly, yes, there was no doubt to that, but I wouldn't go out without a fight. Beaten and damned my whole life, I would never miss an opportunity to prove my self worth. 

Approaching his bedside, I set down his silver tray, still covered. He wouldn't even look at me, he stared at the opposite wall almost deliberately. Repressing an exasperated sigh, I bow my head courteously and say, “Your breakfast, My Lord.” He takes in a deep breath and closes his eyes. I can tell by how his eyelids twitch that he's rolling his eyes beneath them. 

Slowly, he rolls his head over to face me, and snapping his eyes open, he snaps, “What is it?” I was taken aback, and tried hard to suppress the surprise on my face, and felt my defenses slip as a small smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. He was acting like a child, and the loving instincts I felt towards him yesterday while tending his wounds came back. He reminded me of a child – demanding, narrow-minded, stubborn, and yet often misunderstood. My smile did not go unnoticed, however, and he scowled darkly at me, which quickly wiped the smile from my face. He didn't like it. My amusement angered him. 

Still not breaking our gaze, I answered simply, “I don't know, My Lord. It's prepared by the time I go to fetch it for you. It is not my place to go prying into the business of the Lords.” He seemed satisfied enough with my answer, and began getting up. It was true, of course. I was told the food would be ready by the time I came to get it for his meals, just take the tray and go. It certainly wasn't my business to go looking or asking, and in all honesty, I didn't care what he was eating.

He sits up on the edge of his bed, cross-legged, looking comfortable, albeit disgruntled, as though I had awoken him too early. Doesn't matter, the voice in my head purred he's beautiful without beauty sleep. I try hard not to blush as I mentally slap the speaker of my inner voice away. He takes one of the pillows off his bed and sets it on the floor beside him.

“Come, sit with me,” he invites, no hint of malice in his voice, gesturing at the pillow. I look at him, feeling flustered. His expression and tone seemed genuine and earnest, but then I reminded myself that this is the God of Mischief I was dealing with.

“My Lord, it is not really my place...” I mumble, trailing off and looking at my feet. He chuckles, and I see him smile. He reaches down and pats the pillow.

“Of course it is. You are my servant. Come, it has been so long since I've had the indulgence of good company.” He had an honest smile on his face, small and cute. I felt a twinge of guilt inside me for wanting to disobey. He seemed so lonely and happy for company.

Recomposing myself, I bow my head respectively and reply, “If it so pleases you, My Lord.” I sit down on the pillow and cross my legs as he did, and wait expectantly. As we sat, the silence grew and I became more nervous and awkward. After a few moments, he lets out a contented sigh and reaches for his tray. I felt genuinely confused, but was nonetheless pleased to see him taking an interest in food myself. He seemed so thin and pale, like he wasn't taking care of himself here. After I had returned last night and received him as an official assignment, I had a long talk with his brother Thor, who seemed deeply concerned about his well-being. I could only imagine his brother's relief in hearing he took an interest in food today.

Taking the lid off of his tray, his small, happy smile turned into a large smile of genuine contentment. I had to stop myself from peering to see what on that tray had made him so happy. Being short and on the ground, I couldn't see what was up on his nightstand, and he was angling the tray lid almost as if he was purposely trying to hide the contents from me. I felt excited for him, happy that he was happy. I could smell his food, and to my embarrassment, my stomach gave a loud growl in response. He looked at me with surprise and a flash of amusement in his eyes. Instinctively, I put my hand on my belly and look away.

“Close your eyes,” he murmurs gently. Without hesitation, I close them, obeying right away but feeling the regret almost immediately afterward. My heart pounded, and I felt a thrill of fear and anticipation shoot down my spine that was oddly...arousing?

“Open,” was his next command, his voice softer and silkier. I part my jaws and unfurl my tongue, waiting. My heart pounded faster, terrified yet excited. 

“Shhh,” he whispers, delicately placing something sweet on my tongue with his soft fingertips, letting the tip of his index finger linger on the tip of my tongue as he withdrew his hand. Instinctively, I took the food into my mouth, wrapping my tongue around it, and beginning to chew. Whatever it was, it was delicious – better than anything I would ever hope of getting as a servant. I recognized it immediately as some kind of pastry or doughnut. Sweet and sugary, I tasted honey, cinnamon, and berries in the dough. I savored it, not wanting to open my eyes. When I swallowed, I became embarrassingly conscious of the fact that I hadn't worn any undergarments this morning, and my eyes snapped back open.

“Did you like that little taste?” He asked softly, the smile on his face devious. Still running my tongue through my mouth, sticky with powdered sugar, I cover my mouth with my hand before replying. 

“It was really good,” I reply begrudgingly, nodding sheepishly at him. I felt my face grow hot, and became increasingly embarrassed. “My Lord,” I added after a pause, not wanting to seem ungrateful or having forgotten my place.

“Decadent, isn't it?” He said, offering a warm smile. He began to eat his own food now, politely but still taking it in large bites. I wondered when the last time he had actually eaten was. After a few large mouthfuls, he chewed and swallowed fully before speaking again. “Frigga must have asked for them...they were my favorite as a child.” His voice was bittersweet, like he found the gesture comforting but the memory painful. Catching himself, he puts on a fake smile. “I'm glad I got to share with you...you seemed hungry.” He smirked at me and I dipped my head in acknowledgment. When I came back up, he was back to eating his food again, as if I wasn't even there.

What...what just happened? I thought, bewildered. Why did he do that? The only reasonable conclusion I could reach was that I served as a taste-tester, but why? No one would dare try to poison him or anything of that sorts. Besides, the act seemed way too...intimate. Maybe that wasn't all you were hungry for, said my snide consciousness. I had to fight the urge to punch myself. Looking back up at Loki, I catch a glimpse of his bandages from beneath his sleeve as he reaches for his food, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“How are you feeling today, My Lord?” I ask. He nods, waiting to finish what was in his mouth before answering.

“Fine. I suppose you'd like to change the bandages this morning?” His tone was casual, but cool. I noticed he was no longer looking at me again.

“Yes, My Lord.” I answered back. He merely nodded in acknowledgment. Finishing up the remainder of his food, wiping his mouth, and covering the tray back up, he laid back down on his bed. Looking as bored as he did before I entered the room, he pushed his sleeve up and impatiently stuck his arm over the edge of the bed for me to tend to. I sit up on my knees, and gently take his arm in my hands, beginning to unwrap his bandages.

His hand gave a small twitch, and a finger suddenly snagged itself through the metal loop on my collar.  
I sat there, immobilized with fear. My breathing rapidly increased and I broke into a cold sweat. Just a small finger, but he had me. Paralyzed, I just sat there. He gave his finger a little jerk, tugging on me, as though making sure I was there. The only thing that grounded me was my hands still placed on his forearm.

“Tell me,” he commanded, his voice hard and becoming dangerous, “Who are you, and where are you from? You wear this,” he jerked on it again, sharper this time, “and I know what that means. I want to know why.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat pushing against the leather. I was still stunned. It was so smooth, I hadn't seen it happen. His arm over the bed, where I was kneeling, it was too perfect...he was right within reach to subtly grab me. Just one finger, and I was at his mercy. Just think of what else those powerful fingers can do...

“It marks my servitude to Asgard, My Lord.” I finally say, the strength in my voice surprising even myself. Unearthing this newly found confidence, my shaking slowed and I spoke louder. “You know as well as I, it marks a slave, a prisoner of war, or someone otherwise indebted in servitude. I am indentured. I am bound to my time here until I pay off my debts.”

“This I know,” he mused, “What you are not telling me is what I don't know. How you came here and why. You're clearly not from here. Why should I trust you?” He pulled me in and up, so that the underside of my chin was painfully resting on the edge of the bed, and I whimpered in pain. He gives a delighted smirk, and leans in, putting his lips to my ear.

“What about you keeps me from completely destroying you?”

~writinginsepia.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki’s Perspective. He hears the servant girl’s full story of who she is and how she came to be where she is. It grips him with pain, as many parallels in the pair’s past are drawn. He finds himself conflicted - on one hand, being the God of Mischief, on the other, unable to push away someone he sees so much of himself in.

Loki's POV

“My mother used to be a servant of Asgard,” she began, voice quaking. I could feel her trembling at the end of my fingers, quaking with fear. “Just like me, she used to be a servant. She served prisoners in the dungeon.” She let a silence fall between us, before continuing, as though unsure or afraid of how to best proceed. I gave an impatient tug on the loop, spurring her into finishing her story. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, looking bored and uncaring, but in all actuality, I did want to know more behind her being. Her mystery intrigued me...she was so simple, so plain, almost as though she was Midgardian, yet she bore the collar of indentured servitude and knew basic magic. I wanted to know why she infuriated me.

She swallowed hard, and I felt the lump catch on her collar.  
“My mother was a servant of Asgard. Whether or not she was an Asgardian or from elsewhere, I cannot say. But she did serve the house of Odin for many years. She came here as soon as she was an adult, of age, able to work...” I held up my other hand to interrupt her.

“You don't know whether or not your mother is of Asgardian birth?” I say quietly. She looks down at the ground, almost as if she is ashamed and unworthy.

“No,” she whispers, “I know very little of my mother, or my father.” I gave a small nod of acknowledgment.

“Continue.” I command, giving her another tug to direct her attention back at me.

“From what I know, she quickly gained favor with most all of the household. She was beloved by her fellow servants in the quarters, and even Odin would sing praises of her. Like me, she was chosen to serve the prisoners in the dungeons. She apparently had a way with them...even the most hostile prisoners would ease themselves in her company, and she could get the most stubborn ones to eat.”

“Go on,” I urge, gentler this time, and while relaxing my grip on her. I was intrigued as to how this related to her and how she got her, though I had a feeling it would not end well.

“Despite her natural charm with all of the prisoners, there was one in particular that she fell for.”

“Your mother fell in love with a prisoner?” I asked, hushed. I felt a jolt of pity as I see tears well up in her eyes.

“Yes,” she choked out. “My mother fell in love with my father, a prisoner here in Asgard. If there is little I know of my mother, I know even less of my father. I have heard their love was true and passionate, but as to who he was or of what birth, I do not know. They kept it quiet, until my mother became pregnant with me. Unable to attend to her duties, the word got out. Odin was furious – not only because he had lost a good servant, but also the two of them had committed a great crime together.” As the quiet fell between us as she gathered her thoughts, I let my finger slip out of her collar loop. She made no attempts to leave or even move. I knew all too well of the crimes that had been committed here in the dungeons over time. Odin took it very personal when an enemy of Asgard took to bed one of his household servants. The act was close to treason.

“Enraged, Odin ordered to have my father executed. When my mother heard of this, she and my father had planned an escape out of prison...a fool's goal, really. Of course, they both failed and got caught. Now they both had committed treason, and both of them were sentenced to die together.” She took a deep breath, steadying herself.  
“Of course, my mother was pregnant with me. Frigga had intervened...” at the mention of my mother's name, I felt a stab of pain. Frigga, my mother...so sweet and compassionate. I did not know how this child's story ended, but I could tell that Frigga would be the reason she survived. Just as Frigga had saved me from the ax, she had saved this servant from the same fate. “...and had plead with Odin to spare the life of the child within my mother. It was not the child's crime, Frigga begged. Odin agreed to wait until my mother gave birth, on the condition that her child would take her place as a servant when they reached adulthood, as recompense, for her crimes cost Odin the labor of one servant. I was born, and on that day, my mother and father were sent to the executioner. I was raised in an orphanage until recently, when I became an adult. No longer a child, I entered the contract my mother had made with Odin and Frigga eighteen years ago to save my life.” I was watching her, both entranced and horrified. I could no longer feign boredom by staring at the ceiling...she had won my full, undivided attention. Odin's harsh cruelty knew no bounds, just as my mother's depths of love knew no bounds.

“You asked why I wear this damned thing,” she spat, tugging at her wretched collar, “I wear it as penance for my mother and my father's foolish love. Odin would not so easily have me forget who I am or why I am here. I'm here to pay off my mother's debts, for the time she was supposed to be serving, she was making love.” She looked me hard in the eyes, and for once, I felt like I was the one being intimidated. The anger rose quickly in her voice, bitter and hard. “You ask me who I am? I don't know. A bastard, that's all. No mother, no father. They threw their lives away for a quick and burning passion, not thinking that they were casting a child into a life of damnation. They were selfish and foolish, and I pay their price. I never knew love or belonging as a child, and I certainly don't know it now. I don't have ancestry, and I will never be able to wipe away the stain left on me. Odin would not be so kind as to simply let me integrate in with the others, no. Even in the house of Asgard, I still have to be less than a servant.” She snarled out her last words in a low hiss, tugging frustratedly once more at her collar.

I saw it now.

She was, in many ways, just like me.

Though I was a god and “Odin's” son, I had come from monstrous origins, bastardized, left to die. Like her, I had lived my life not knowing who I was or where I came from, believing the entire time to be the true son of Odin and Frigga. And like me, she had been a victim of Odin's cruelty, his way of using people as pawns. As he had taken me in, planned to use me to keep peace between Asgard and Jotunheim, he used her mother's crimes against her to fit his own warped sense of justice. Frigga had saved her life, just as she saved mine when I was banished from Midgard and confined to this hellish dungeon. She was forced to live in the shadows of those above her, constantly reminded that even servitude is not her place, just as I had been forced to live in Thor's shadow.

All of the pain I had felt on the night she was first sent to me came flooding back. All of the bitterness, the heartache, the rage, the self-loathing, the loneliness, and the regret all came back – and I saw it all etched into every line on her young face.

“Does that answer your question, My Lord?” She whispered, her voice so low and dangerous it was barely audible. I sat up in bed, the hair on the back of my neck raising. I made full eye contact with her, her still kneeling on the floor. And while I was gazing down upon her, I felt as though she was the one looking down upon me. Never have I had a servant, or anyone, be so bold and challenging of my authority. Tilting my head to one side, I quietly pondered over her. At times, she was so meek and mild, so submissive, and yet at others, she seemed so full of fire and brimstone. Her personality confused me, and yet, I guiltily admitted that I was greatly attracted to it. To have someone who would give me the satisfaction of submission, but also the thrill of challenging my authority. She answered to no one, and yet, she answers to me. 

“Yes it does, thank you.” I reply after a moment of contemplation, my voice steady and polite. Her tense body relaxed, and she let out a long sigh.

“I'm glad my answer was satisfactory for you, My Lord. If I may...may I finish attending to your bandages?” Her angry look was replaced by her look of tender concern, an expression of her's I quickly grew fond of.

“Yes, of course.” I shifted so I was sitting on the edge of the bed, my legs hanging over the side, giving her my arm. She looked content at the new task, and her body loosened up greatly. I flinched as she began to undo my bandages, each time evoking a small “I'm sorry,” from her in a pained tone, as if hurting me also hurt her. It wasn't so bad, it was just the cloth sticking to the dried blood and salve on my skin.

“I'm very sorry for the things I've said, My Lord,” she said with a sigh as she unraveled a long length off of my arm. “I addressed you in a very inappropriate manner.”

“No harm done,” I forgive, my tone light. “You are entitled to emotions.” She blushed slightly.

“You're too kind on me, My Lord. I know better than to let my personal feelings get the better of me.” She paused for a moment, preparing another bowl of warm water like she had yesterday to rewash my wounds. “But you know...it was very nice to have someone listen.” 

She rang out the cloth of excess water, getting ready to wipe my arm down again. She places the cloth gently, the warmth comforting and relaxing. I wrap my fingers delicately around her wrist. Quickly, she tries tugging it back in a jerk reaction, looking up at me in fear. I take my other hand and cradle the side of her face with it. I held my gaze with her for a few moments, letting her catch her breath and see I was not a threat to her. I felt intense guilt on the inside – I knew what I was doing to her. I confused her, striking fear into her one minute, taking pity on her and trying to comfort her the next. I failed miserably at comforting her, but I was trying. As much as I longed to push her around and push her out, I couldn't. I knew what it was like, to not have anyone who listened. I felt ashamed of myself. I was such a cruel god, but I couldn't hurt her the way she had been her whole life, a feeling I knew all too well. Loki, the God of Mischief...brought to his knees by a young servant girl. I felt the shame of what I was doing burn in my face, and I'm sure my pale cheeks got tinged slightly pink. It probably looked like embarrassment, which made it worse.

Softly, I tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Shh,” I murmur softly. “I will always be here to listen.”

“I...I...” she stammered, her voice trailing off quietly. “Master Loki, I really should just...” A small noise caught in my throat as she called me “master Loki,” not helping the situation at all. I shifted uncomfortably. What had I gotten myself into? I was making it more and more awkward...I scared her, tried to comfort her, and now was trying to hide arousal. You're spiraling fast, the snide voice in my head sneered, you'd better redeem yourself. I didn't know how to do this. My whole life I was shunned from love and affection, I really had no idea how to appropriately show it. I knew a mother's love, and sometimes a sibling's love, but I never learned how to show affection or desire for another being.

“Shh,” I hush again, pulling her face closer to mine as I leaned in. Without thinking, I closed my eyes and met my lips with hers.

~writinginsepia.tumblr.com

For fanfiction updates and such, follow @writinginsepia on the Twitter!


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Servant's perspective. Her last encounter leaving her flustered, she retreats to her quarters for a rest, only to hear some foreboding news about how Loki has handled his past servants. When returning to Loki's cell for his evening meal, she gets an unwelcome surprise.

Author's Note: There's a lot of italics on the actual copy of it and on the tumblr version of it, but I'm way too lazy (and it's 5am) to go through a shitton of HTML coding right now so I apologize in advance if that effects or hinders the reading of this chapter at all. I guess just use your imaginations because HTML coding is a pain in the ass I'm sorry ;3;

Servant's POV (Reader)

He kissed me...

The one thing, the only thing that kept running through my mind, over and over and over as I headed up the stairs on my return from his cell. I could still feel the blush in my cheeks, and I tried desperately to pretend it wasn't there as I walked on auto-pilot back to my quarters. Since my only duty is to serve Loki, what I do in the times between that are free and up to me. I felt like I needed to lay down until it was time to bring him his evening meal. Yes, that's what I needed. To lay down. I couldn't even walk, I felt so stunned. Tripping on the steps and on the rugs, bumping carelessly into people

He kissed me...

I changed from my serving robes back into my sleeping clothes. I climbed back into bed, and just laid there, staring at the ceiling. My heart still pounded, Loki, the God of Mischief, kissed me...

“Hey, are you alright?” Another servant asked me as she entered the quarters, giving me a concerned look. She was one of the few I could consider a “friend,” as she has been one of the only ones since my coming here to treat me with kindness and respect. “You don't look so good, is everything alright?”

The brush of his soft, smooth fingers against my cheek as he tucked a lock of hair behind my ear. The fear I felt fluttering my heart, confused, scared, as he held me there, trying to be comforting but only frightening me further with his conflicting emotions. One moment, he was pulling on my collar, intimidating me, the next, telling me it was going to be alright and that he was here to listen. How our eyes met, and I saw fear and apprehension in them too, and I saw my own life's hurt reflected back into his emerald eyes, and saw that he wasn't such a cruel god, just a lonely, scared, misguided boy...

“I'm just feeling a little under the weather today...I didn't sleep so great last night and all,” I replied, trying to be as nonchalant as I possibly could. I was trying to hint that I wasn't feeling great due to lack of sleep – which would make sense, seeing as how I was, after all, so roughly awoken and thrown out of bed. I saw her brow furrow and a little frown crease her lips. I could tell instantly that she didn't buy it. It didn't matter...if I wanted to nap in the middle of the day, I could, but laziness was more acceptable if it was due to an illness. And to be fair, I felt pretty sick, but in a twisted way. She walked over to my bedside and gently sat down on it's edge. She placed a hand on my forehead, feeling to see if I was hot.

“You know sweetie,” she dropped her voice to a gentle whisper, “don't be afraid to speak up if he's hurting you or scaring you.”

“What...what do you mean?” I stammer in horror, genuinely confused now. I could tell she thought my confusion was feigned, as her concerned expression deepened.

“He's...he's not right. He was always a mischievous man, but the solitude in prison because his father and brother abandoned him did something to him. He doesn't have the greatest track record of keeping servants. He's scared away a good number of them.” She gently touched my face, cradling the side of it with her hand. “Don't be afraid to speak up if he starts getting rough with you. Thor and Odin don't want any of us in positions of danger, it's nothing to be ashamed of.” She looked at me, waiting, as though I was supposed to burst into some horrible confession of abuse.

“Oh my! No, no, it's nothing like that...he hasn't done anything, I swear. I legitimately feel under the weather...you saw how I was woken up last night and kept awake tending to my duties. That's what's rough on me. Not enough sleep and you start to feel sick, you know?”

“So what did happen, then?” She challenged. Oh my GOD. I screamed internally, starting to feel angry. Would she just leave me alone?! I look at her warily – she was treading a thin line. Master/servant bonds were something not taken lightly. Just as my only task was to serve Loki, what happens in my times of servitude to him are to stay private out of respect for the master. The only way I would be able to talk freely about Loki would be if I was approached by Odin or Thor...and she was neither. She should know better. Any servant should know better than to break their master's code of trust. I saw the guilt in her eyes as she awaited my reply. 

“You know I'm not going to answer that,” I say firmly. “I can tell you that nothing abusive happened, but you should know better than to ask that. Not just of me, but of anyone.” I didn't want to sound like I was coming down to hard on her, but still. I was treated like dirt, and yet I upheld the standards higher than anyone in these quarters.

“You're right, I'm sorry,” she sighed, getting up off the edge of the bed. “If you need anything, let me know. I hope you feel better soon, okay?” She started walking out of the servant's quarters, before stopping in the doorway to turn around again. “And please, just...just be careful, okay?” She had hurt in her voice, like she was afraid for me. I felt bad...she was just looking out for me.

“I will! I promise,” I call back cheerfully, offering up the best fake smile I could muster. Pacified, she left, shutting the door behind me and leaving me alone in silence. 

He hushed me gently, and started pulling me closer. His eyes closed, and I felt his cool, thin lips on mine. I felt a rush – my first instinct was to pull back. But I didn't. Smitten, I closed my eyes too and let myself melt into the kiss. I could tell he was scared. He didn't know what he was doing or why, and that made two of us.

His lips were soft and gentle, and he made it easy to kiss him back...we held it, slowly growing more comfortable with each other. Then he kissed me a second time, then a third, each kiss growing stronger and bolder. I pushed back with my lips, determined to be his equal. And honestly, I enjoyed it. He broke away, tenderly kissing the tears that were rolling down my cheeks away as I sat there, eyes still closed, leaning my face into his soft hand while he murmured, “Shh, shh...”

Remembering the intimacy of the moment, I drifted into sleep unintentionally, guiltily comforted by the memory, and wishing he was laying with me, curled around me.

“Wake up!” a sharp hiss in my ear spoke, violently shaking me awake. Startled, I jump, to find my assailant the servant whom I had a discussion with earlier. “Wake up, wake up!” She whispered frantically, looking frightened. I slap her rough hands away, quickly sitting up in bed.

“What, what? I'm awake, I'm awake! What is going on?”

“Do you not know what time it is?”

“No?” But even then, I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. Oh no, if I slept in...

“It's time for evening meals! You almost slept in!” She pulled me out of bed, rushing me along. “You're lucky I found you before the master of the quarters caught you, she would have loved a reason to call you lazy and kick you out.” She dragged me to the mirror, frantically picking at my bed head, while I stared back at my reflection, still in a daze. Despite our friction earlier, I was forever grateful for her looking out for me. Satisfied with my hair, she pulled some serving robes on over my head haphazardly and grabbed my wrist, dragging me to the door way. I just stumbled along, still in the shock that I had almost slept in past my duty times...You need to work on that, I thought guiltily. I almost was late this morning, and I almost did it again. You're not going to keep seeing Loki if your performance keeps failing...That thought woke me up.

Pulling from her grasp, I hastily smoothed down my robes and my hair, thanking her a hundred times over for having my back before I turned to scurry off to the kitchen to fetch Loki's evening meal. I made it to the kitchen in record time, incredibly focused. I didn't have the distraction of the kiss on my mind, just determination due to the fear of failure. I grab the usual covered silver tray, and make my way down to the dungeons, face flushed. As I reach the stairs, I slow down, trying to even out my breathing and my pace, so I didn't appear so flustered for Loki. I was probably already late, but I didn't want to show it. I wonder, how would he react to my being late?

I was a bit short with the guard, demanding a bit snappily to be let in. Taking a deep breath, I steady myself before entering. As the door shuts behind me, I immediately bow and launch into an apology on the spot.

“My Lord, I'm so sorry, I'm so very sorry, Loki I...” I stop mid-stammer, mouth agape. I straighten out my back, still unable to speak. 

Loki wasn't there.

It was Thor.

I stared at him for a moment, before going back into a bow and finding my voice.

“Thor!” I exclaim, “I am so sorry, I wasn't expecting you, I thought Loki...” He laughs, his loud, booming laugh, and waves his hand.

“No worries, no worries, young one. I was merely visiting with my brother for some time before you arrived. He had to excuse himself to use the restroom, I'm sure he'll be back any moment.” His smile was so wide and kind, I instantly sighed with relief. Crossing the room, I set Loki's food down on the end table next to his bed.

“Thank you,” I breathe. “I can take my leave now, if I'm interrupting something between you two.”

“Actually,” Thor began, taking a step closer to me. If Loki was intimidating because of his sharp wit and menace, Thor was just as intimidating from his huge figure, and I shrunk back a bit. “I wouldn't mind talking to just you for a minute.” A small, sad smile bent his lips, making him look like a big puppy dog. He lowered his voice. “How exactly is my brother, really?” I swallow hard. What do I tell him? I do answer to him and Odin, after all. But for some reason, I wanted to lie, whether to protect myself or Loki, I did not know.

“He's alright,” I begin, trying to make it sound natural. “He's been doing better since I tended to his wounds. Nothing out of the ordinary. He's eating fine.” Thor gives a slow nod.

“I was worried, since you came late, I figured he had maybe done something...”

“What? No, goodness no. Nothing out of the ordinary, I promise you. I enter, I give him his food, I tend his wounds. I carry out any other requests, I take his dishes, I leave.” Why was everyone suddenly afraid of him, worried that he was going to hurt me? Thor seemed satisfied with the news.

“Now, how are you?” He asked. The question took me aback.

“Good,” I replied hesitantly, suddenly wary of where this was going. “Adjusting well.” He leaned forward.

“I've been noticing you, you attend to your duties quite well.” Something about his compliment unnerved me. “You're very beautiful, graceful, and loyal.” I took a step back, and he advanced one step forward. Something wasn't right. I never knew Thor to be like...this.

“Well, thank you very much for your kind words, Thor,” I reply respectfully. He takes my chin in his large, strong hands and tips my head up slightly to look at him.

“You're beautiful and dutiful. I think I've rather taken a liking to you.” Gasping, I push his hand away and jump back. God or not, I would not let myself be handled or treated like this.

“With all due respect, Thor, but you are engaged to Jane! And my duties lie with Lo – my job, I am not interested in relations with anyone!” I wonder if he caught my slip-up. True, my duties lie with Loki, but in rejecting him, that would have been taken the wrong way, so mid-error I tried correcting it to “my job.” I saw a smirk flicker across his face – he did catch my mistake. But also, that smirk...that smirk was not Thor's. 

Narrowing my eyes, I take a step closer, looking him right in the face.

“Loki?” Breathe with disbelief. Thor threw his head back in hearty laughter, and I see gold light start at his feet, magic, and travel up his body, revealing the disguise. When the illusion was up, Loki stood there in is prison clothes, a smug look on his face, arms spread open wide.

“You got me,” he purred, flashing his sly, toothy grin. I stood there, shocked. Did he just? Did he really just?

“You...You!” I stammer, pointing an accusatory finger at him. He wraps an arm lazily around my waist, proud of himself, pulling me close. 

“I must admit, I am very impressed...it pleases me, that you know me so well to see me even beneath my disguises.” It was meant to be a compliment, but I was enraged and fighting back tears. After the moment we shared earlier today, here he was, playing tricks on me, like nothing had changed. God of Mischief indeed. I struggled in his grasp trying to get free. He frowned as I squirmed and flailed, though he kept me trapped there effortlessly on his part. “What's wrong?”

“What's wrong?” I spat violently, livid. “What's wrong is that you put me through the fear that your brother was trying to take me. You tricked me and it hurt Loki. What was that even trying to prove?” I lost control of the tears...I hit the point where I was so angry, I just let them flow. He loosened is grip on me, but I didn't bother trying to get out.

“I wanted you to prove that you were loyal to me,” he said quietly, taken aback. “It was not my intent to...”

“To do what, Loki? To hurt me? Your tricks hurt, Loki. They only benefit you, but did you ever thing for a moment what that would do to me, how that would make me feel?” He flinched at every time I used his name instead of the customary “My Lord” or “master,” as a servant should.

“My entire life, I have always lived in my brother's shadow. I was always being abandoned by anyone who I became close to for my brother. I wanted, I needed to know you were not going to be another one of them. I needed to know that your loyalty would be to me...” he trailed off, becoming distant. I saw rage and hurt grow in his eyes, and I became apprehensive. I shouldn't have spoken to him like that...I knew I probably set him off. 

Trying to piece together the broken fragments, I take a deep breath. “My Lord, I am so sorry. I did not mean to lash out at you like that, I...” Suddenly, his fingers are in my hair, grabbing a fistful of it and yanking it back sharply as I cried out.

His teeth grazed my earlobe. “Are you?” He growled in my ear, voice low and harsh. “Are you sorry?” I hesitated, and he gave another sharp tug on my hair, the thrill sending a shock of arousal all the way down between my legs. I whimpered.

“Because I'm about to make you sorry.”

~writinginsepia.tumblr.com

For updates and progress on my fictions and such, follow me @WritingInSepia


	5. Rolling Thunder, Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, too lazy to HTML code this shit, but other than that, enjoy!  
> (Much easier to read on the naughtylokiconfessions blog on tumblr)

Previous Chapter: http://naughtylokiconfessions.tumblr.com/post/70720742848/rolling-thunder-chapter-four 

Author's Note: Just a warning that this is an adult, 18+ NSFW chapter. I know this blog is marked NSFW and most of the posts and fanfictions are adult, but I just wanted to leave a head's up because I know that's not everyone's thing and I respect that. Other than that, a big thank-you to all of you patiently waiting through chapter's 1-4 and encouraging me to keep writing <3

Servant's POV (Reader)

“Because I'm about to make you sorry,” he growled into my ear, a rough purr, with danger coiled behind every word. His left hand still gripped my hair tightly, arching my head back. I stood there, panting quietly, wet with anticipation. Is this happening? I wondered, awestruck. Does the God of Mischief really want me like this? Then the warnings of my fellow servant and “Thor” echoed through my head. Or maybe this is some sort of sick punishment...another trick or a test. The worry was wiped away instantly as I felt his cold breath blow off the side of my neck. I hear the faint sound of his lips parting, so close to my ear. I let out a slow, steadying exhale, rolling my hips back. I felt his teeth graze my skin, slowly and gently, nipping a line down my neck. His long fingers curled around my hipbone as he rested his hand there, steadying me. I let out a small moan out loud, flushing.

“Shh,” he hisses, giving me a rougher nip.

“Loki...” I breathe out, partially from the pain, but mostly out of sheer arousal. Passionately, he latches onto my collar bone, teeth digging in.

“Did I say you could speak?” He growls into my skin.

“No,” I squeak out, breathing hard. His fingers on my hip gripped tighter, his nails clawing at my skin.

“No what,” he commands, giving my hair a pull.

“No, My Lord,” I manage to choke out. “No, Master Loki,” I add for good measure, not sure which title he was expecting me to use.

“Good,” he let out a soft chuckle, a little puff of cold breath blowing on my bruise as he let go of my collar bone. He let go of my hair too, and placed both of his fine hands on the front of my robe, his slender fingers undoing my buttons. Swiftly, he undid them all with grace, letting the robe fall to the floor, leaving me exposed to him in my sleepwear. Even though I couldn't see him, I could tell he had that small little frown of his on his lips, brow furrowed.

“What are these? This isn't servant wear.” I could hear the disappointment in his voice. I felt ashamed, presenting myself to him like this.

“I'm so sorry, My Lord,” my words tumbled out faster than I could catch them, feeling embarrassed. “I was taking a nap and I was running late to bring you dinner and I'm so sorry, I just threw my robes over my pajamas.” 

“Shh,” he murmured in my ear once more. The tips of his fingers delicately played with the hem of my shirt, tracing patterns on it. “No matter, just more of you for me to undress.” He sounded amused, as though the idea of undressing me more pleased him. I blushed as he took my shirt in his hands and gently lifted it up over my head, casting it aside on the floor with my robe. His hands slid up my stomach, making my muscles shudder slightly at his cold, smooth touch. They traveled up my ribcage and cupped my exposed breasts, massaging them.

“Oh my,” he purred playfully, tugging on my earlobe. “I wasn't expecting this. I thought I'd have to go through more to get to these.”

“I don't sleep with a bra on, My Lord,” I admitted guiltily. He gave a groan of approval, pinching each nipple and rolling them between his fingers.

“Ah!” I cry out, tipping my head back, arousal aching through my body. This was wrong, this was so very, very wrong...and I didn't care. Uncomfortably, I shifted my legs together, trying to dull the sharp pain in between them. My knees were already weak and shaking.

“Oh no, we can't have that,” he let go of a breast and slid his hand down my belly once more, forcing it in between my legs and prying them apart. While down there, he put two fingers over my clit, applying gentle pressure with his fingertips and slowly rubbing circles over my pants.

“Please,” I begged pitifully, trying desperately to grind my hips into his fingers, craving more. 

“Please what,” he asked playfully. I was momentarily taken aback. I didn't even know what was begging for, I just knew that I needed it. He rubbed harder, and I could hear him snickering delightfully as I slowly soaked through my garments in a desperate lust.

“Please,” I whimper, pushing against his fingers. “Please. I – I need you...Ah!” I cry out as he pinches my nipple hard. He takes his hand off of my breast as well as the hand out from between my legs, resting them both on my hips, pulling me close. Slowly, he rolls his hips into my backside, long, wave-like curves, letting me feel every inch of his hard bulge he was withholding from me within his pants.

“That's very needy of you,” he says softly, playfully...there was no hiding the amusement he took in my struggle against him. His nails dug into my hip as the roughness of his grinding increased, making me cry out and stagger my breath. My heart pounded. “Considering you are the one who is supposed to be serving me.” His tongue darted out, giving me a soft flick beneath my ear. I moan and arch back, putting my hands over his to anchor myself as I tried to push back against him. 

Suddenly he stopped. “Did I say you could touch me?” His playfulness gone, his tone suddenly cold and dangerous.

“No!” I exclaim, seemingly unable to control the volume of my voice, still recovering. His nails bit into the flesh on my hips, almost painful.

“No what,” he hissed. I didn't know if he was trying to be punishing or not, but his quest for dominance only frustrated me further. I don't know if he realized I wanted to be dominated.

“No, Master Loki,” I breathe out, slowly beginning to steady myself. He lets go entirely, taking a step back.

“Turn around,” he orders. I did so, and was able to look at him for the first time since he approached me as “Thor.” I drank in his lean form, slightly bony and haggard from life in captivity, but still beautiful. His eyes weren't dulled by lust, but still sharp and dark. His raven hair was combed nicer than it has been, but still slightly unkempt. Even in his simple prison clothing, he looked beautiful...and dangerous. He looked like he could sweep me off of my feet and tear me apart in a second and I wouldn't know the difference. My eyes traveled from his face all the way down...stopping at the impressive bulge that had formed in his pants, aching to be let out.

He tucks a finger under my chin, tilting my head up. “I'm up here, dear.” A mischievous glint flashes across his eyes, along with a wicked smile at having caught me gazing at him like that. “Remember on your first night, how you undressed me so cleanly without touching me?”

“Yes, Master Loki,” I answer, nodding. He looked satisfied.

“Good. I want you to undress me like that. And don't touch me.” The task was much more challenging than it had been on the first night. Then, it was just me respectfully undressing my master, whereas now, my fingers were trembling and I feared that I would slip up and touch him. I yearned to touch his smooth skin, there was nothing I wanted more than to stroke his exposed abdomen with my fingertips.

But I didn't dare. With some difficulty, I managed to get his top clothing off, without touching his body. His half-naked body was beautiful...like chiseled marble, taught and refined. I momentarily forgot my lust and took in a soft “oh!” of admiration. He tipped his head back, showing off his perfect jawline, smirking. He looked down at me with approval and I stood beneath him, quivering, awaiting his next command. We stood there for a long moment, each surveying the other's half-naked body. In the presence of someone so breathtakingly handsome, I found myself extremely self-conscious of my own body. Blushing and unsure under his gaze, I draw my hands up to cover my breasts and turn away. 

He catches both of my wrists and pries my hands away from me with a small tsk and pulled me very close to his body, a fraction of an inch away – but not enough to touch him. I drew in a sharp breath and held it, trying to withdraw myself from him as much as his restraining allowed. I wasn't supposed to touch him. He never gave me permission yet to touch him. I catch a moan rising in my throat and I hear him chuckle. The physical yearning to touch him was becoming incredibly painful. He took one of my hands he was holding captive and gently guided it down the length of his body, and I gasp in surprise. His skin was so smooth and slightly chilly, and though his muscles were hard, the texture was like velvet. A shiver went down my spine and the hairs on the back of my neck raised. He watched me, amused, as he stroked my hand down his abdomen, until...oh.

Without thinking, on an impulse of lust, I give in and my greedy fingers latch on, handling the bulge in his pants he guided my hand down to and rested it on. I knew almost immediately I broke the command of no touching, but the absolutely satisfying feeling of massaging the God's erection through his pants was worth it. It was warm and firm, and I instinctively found a considerable length of shaft to stroke and rub on. Much to my delight, the action didn't initiate a punishment as I had thought...instead, his body slackened, giving in to my touch and letting out a breathy sigh, his eyelids fluttering. Suddenly, I felt emboldened by his response...It seemed as though I melted this God and turned him into putty in my hands. Biting my lip, I continued to massage him. He opened his eyes and a new look shone in them, a look of pure mischief and lust.

“You're a greedy one, aren't you?” He chided.

“You say that like its a bad thing, Master Loki,” I return slyly, “But I don't see you complaining.” He looked playfully taken aback, raising his eyebrows and trying not to smile.

“Be careful, I might just have to ah,” he paused to buck his hips into my hand as I struck a particularly pleasurable spot, “have to punish you if you keep mouthing off to me like that. Nonetheless, you've been very good. Go ahead, take it.” He give me an encouraging nod, daring me to take more. Stunned, I stop altogether. What? An invite to touch my master, a God? A soft whimper caught in the back of his throat, and he looked down at me pleadingly, don't stop, please don't. 

Carefully, like touching precious crystal, I lift up both my hands and suspend them, still keeping my fingers away. I look up at him, uncertain, and he gave me a small nod, his face looking pained, as if he needed me to touch him. Slowly, shaking, I lower my hands, letting all ten of my fingers touch his chest. I gasp, suddenly aroused all over again at how soft and smooth his skin was. I trail my fingers down his body, the tip of my nose trailing down too as my breath blew off his abdomen. The lower I got, the bolder I grew, and I curled my fingers inwards, letting my nails softly scrape down as he shivered beneath them. To evoke the pleasure in a God...it was surreal.

I worked my way down his naked upper half, my fingers exploring, nails scratching lightly, my nose brushing against his skin as my lips left soft kisses. I reached the softer part of his stomach and he shuddered at a kiss, instinctively grabbing a thick fistful of hair, his palm laid out on the top of my head, fingers clutching. I panted out a moan, and he forced my head down sharply.

“Kneel,” he snarled. I did not need telling twice. I went down, obeying his commands, and found myself with my face to his bulge, his hand still in my hair. I took a moment to massage up his legs, working inwards, before reaching his groin. With shaking fingers, I undo his pants and slip his underwear just low enough to let his erection – oh.

He chuckled darkly as his impressive length lay before me, full, smooth, and certainly holding its own. I knew that him being tall was certainly a good indicator of him being well-endowed, but I had certainly never imagined it. Perhaps it was just my innocence. He only gave me a moment to appreciate it before roughly pulling my hair back, leaving me gasping. My lips were now only a fraction of an inch away from the head, and I reached out my tongue, desperate to have some of it...

“Ah,” he reprimanded, pulling my hair again, keeping me out of tongue's reach. I sigh, exasperated, not even bothering to mask my frustrations. My legs ached, and I could feel I had all but completely soaked my panties, growing uncomfortably slick. As much as I was enjoying his teasing and domination, I wanted something by now. “You're so impatient. If you just wait you will be rewarded with so much more.” He just looked down at me with his emerald eyes, smirking, enjoying the view he had from above me. It pained me. I let out a small whimper, letting him know that he won. “I think,” he started, still surveying me, “You would look better at my feet naked, pet.” He waved his free hand, and suddenly I was cold...all of my remaining clothing was gone. 

I was kneeling naked at the feet of a god, his hand in my hair, while being a fraction away from his cock. It was incredibly humiliating and arousing.

“Now then,” he let go of my hair and started working his hands together, magic building up in them. “One more thing.” I felt something heavy settle atop my head. Looking up, I just manage to catch a glimpse of his helm before he grabbed the horns on it forcefully and thrusted me forward.

“Mmphf!” I cry out in surprise, muffled against his penis. My eyelids flutter in pleasure when I realized where I was and what I was doing. It was warm and firm, and its fullness felt satisfying in my mouth. I slowly worked up and down his shaft, curling my tongue around it, moaning. Though the erection was hard, the skin felt soft, creating a wonderful contrasting sensation. He soon became slick, as I was salivating hungrily, greedy for him. Grasping the horns on the helm tightly, he began controlling my movements the way he wanted, working his hips at the same time. I groan, pausing for a breath when he took control – I hadn't been expecting the helmet trick, but I was loving it. Savoring it, I sucked and hummed, my hands braced on his perfect hip bones.

It didn't take long before his thrusting became more rapid, and he grew more aggressive with the horns. I sigh, blushing deeply, when I feel his precum dribble onto my tongue. Knowing that he was close made me tense with anticipation, desperate to feel some relief of my own sexual pressure. Greedily I sucked on him, desperate for his own orgasm, just for some sort of relief...

With a hard gasp, he suddenly broke away, hips curved in away and my head pulled back. I knelt there, mouth suspended open, tongue out, panting hard, face flushed. I looked at him to see his raven hair plastered to his sweaty face. Hands still clutching the horns, he used me as leverage, leaning on me while he caught his breath. Then he let go and hooked a finger through the loop on my collar. A cold shock of fear interrupted my euphoria...I hated that thing and I hated it being touched. He pulled me to my feet, then still keeping his finger snagged, turned do the bed.

“Follow me.” He pulled me to his bedside as I stumbled behind him, knees too weak to walk properly. He draped me over the edge of the bed, stomach down, facing the wall. I hear rustling, and I knew he was removing his pants entirely. I feel his cold hands on either side of my rear, and the arousal that had been lost was regained. His warm tip touches my entrance and I cry out happily, even that slight touch was something I had been craving. “It doesn't take much, does it?” He scoffs. I whimper at him, and he indulges me with just the smallest bit more of his tip, barely penetrating, but it was there. Squirming, I grab fistfuls of the sheet, not knowing what else to do with the feelings that were radiating throughout my body.

Loki takes his hands off my hips and grabs the horns, like handles, once again. “Are you ready?” I nod silently, incapable of speaking. In truth, I was nervous, but I wanted it too badly to care. He slid his whole length into me, blowing out a long sigh of his own, finding the relief he wanted in my wetness. I moan and clutch at the sheets, he slid effortlessly in and out, working into a rhythm. It felt much better than when I took him in my mouth. The god of mischief stretched and filled me to the hilt, leaving nothing untouched. I lay there, panting and reveling in his fucking as he built up the pace, pulling on the helmet.

“Do you like this?” He growled in the heat of the moment, his pace rapid. 

“Yes!” I blurt, unable to even control the volume of my voice.

“Yes what?” He hissed, bringing his palm down hard against my rear in a reprimanding spank. The sensation took me by such a surprise, my eyes snapped wide open upon impact, an incredibly sharp, good feeling hitting my body, then promptly letting my eyelids flutter closed as the feeling radiated warmly throughout my body, leaving me weak...

“That was quick,” he chuckled, stifling his laughter. He was no longer thrusting, but I suddenly became aware of the fact that I no longer desired it so lustfully as I had before. 

“What? What happened? What'd I do?” I became frantic, even fearful. Had I upset him? Did I do something wrong?

“You came.” He said simply, sounding amused. I felt horror-struck and embarrassed. Is that what I did? I wasn't even aware of it in the wake of the spanking.

“No, I didn't,” I bleat out in my defense, refusing to believe it. There was no way, not so quickly. He grunted as he pulled out, and I turned over on the bed to face him. He ran a long finger long the length of his cock, collecting a large amount of my fluids that I had put out onto him, entirely soaked and thick with my female orgasm. The musk was heavy in the air, and I couldn't doubt him anymore. I blushed and turned away, embarrassed, as he held his fingers up and rubbed them together, sticky and wet.

“You did,” he asserted, though not unkindly. “It seems as though we have much to work on...I can tell you have no stamina or personal restraints. Tell me...how many sexual encounters have you had?” I looked away even more, and I just wanted to hide my face into the pillows on the bed.

“I...not many.” I mumbled. Someone like himself was probably not only a god of mischief but a god of sex. He could probably seduce any woman (or man) that he wanted, and he was stuck with me. He stuck a finger in his mouth and sucked on it, contemplating me with a dirty grin on his face. 

“Well, I will fix that, then. You will have many, but only with me, from here on out.” He puts his back to me, starting to dress himself again.

“Wait! What about...what about you?” I felt terrible...was I so bad that I couldn't make him come?

He threw his head back, laughing.

“What about me? You have a long ways to go before I let you have the satisfaction of me coming for you. For now, you are dismissed.”

~writinginsepia.tumblr.com

Follow @WritingInSepia on Twitter for fanfiction updates and fandom related things.  
Follow @LittleShitLoki on Twitter for Loki RP related things.


End file.
